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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538211">Ms. Cordelia Witch-Bitch and the Sapphic Swamp Witch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithAChainsaw/pseuds/Fiona_Goodes_Left_Tit'>Fiona_Goodes_Left_Tit (WithAChainsaw)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Horror Story: Coven spoilers, Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode, Badass Women, Body Horror, Cottagecore, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Fleetwood Mac, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Misty and Cordelia are so cute, Subplots and Twists, Useless Lesbians, Witch Hunts, Witchcraft, be still my gay heart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:35:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithAChainsaw/pseuds/Fiona_Goodes_Left_Tit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A remodeled attic. Unprecedented returns. Another try at the Supreme’s life. The next year at Miss Robichaux’s is gonna be blissful hell.</p><p>(Set after the events of AHS: Coven. Cordelia adjusts to the Supreme life, and gay shit ensues. Kyle adjusts to the butler life, and chaos ensues. Zoe and Queenie adjust to the Council life and...in short, everyone’s a mess.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Madison Montgomery &amp; Queenie, Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode, Spalding &amp; Kyle Spencer, Zoe Benson &amp; Queenie, Zoe Benson/Kyle Spencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Back From the Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          Upon the decaying veranda of an old wooden cottage, and against the hue of dusky grass and the bright outline of New Orleans, a sparrow skittered back and forth on the railing like a small brown pinball.</p><p>           Cordelia watched it silently for a moment. Then, she bent down—admittedly awkwardly—on the side of the path, her toes scrunched up on the dusty bricks. Daisies... a whole field. Somehow she hadn’t noticed before. The flowers seemed so delicate, and although they were constantly threatened by nature’s terrors, they thrived. It was exhilarating to see, and soon Cordelia forgot how uncomfortably she was stooping.</p><p>                  Cordelia stood, and turned, and there was a pale face and blonde curls looking back at her. She watched Misty’s mouth move, but she couldn’t pick up what the swamp witch said. And, to be honest, she didn’t care all that much. She was in Misty’s presence, and that was all that mattered. </p><p>                 Cordelia’s vision was white at the edges, like she was in some sort of heaven, and she was focused on Misty’s rose-colored cheeks and the crinkles of her eyes when she smiled. She looked happy, so Cordelia was happy, and Misty took her hand and led her farther down the path.</p><p>                 The swamp witch said something again, excitedly this time, and pointed to the left. They turned the corner and were in awe of a massive glass greenhouse, quite like the one at Miss Robichaux’s, but much larger. They slid open the grand doors with ease, and Cordelia’s senses were flooded with the crisp sound of dripping water and the slight tinge of violets, peonies, and roses. Misty led her to the back, hopping with excitement, and lifted something out from behind a table. </p><p>                 The plant was small but healthy, and green all around, with plump leaves and a strong stem. It seemed normal, and there were no blooms, but Cordelia decided to exercise her manners and take in the plant’s uniqueness, whatever that may be. She sensed Misty’s desire for her to touch it, so Cordelia reached for the plant and fingered a waxy leaf between her hands.</p><p>                 The top of the plant began to move, and Misty gasped. It was bulbous and green, and something Cordelia had never seen before. It grew like an expanding balloon, soon completely weighing the plant down. A dark bilateral line grew in the middle of the bulb, and then it began to split, and Misty’s voice faded away, and suddenly the bulb grew teeth and wrapped its mouth around Cordelia’s hand.</p><p>                 Cordelia woke with a start, creaking the bed frame. She checked her alarm. 6:45. She didn’t know what to feel, and she didn’t know how to feel it.</p><p>                 She rose and pulled on a blouse and slacks, the kind of slacks that attracted lint like flies to honey. Maybe she’d be lucky today, and they’d stay nice and untouched.</p><p>                 “Bitch!” someone howled, muffled behind the door, but with a voice strong enough to quake Cordelia’s armoire. “You stole my credit card to buy all that!”</p><p>                 Without a second’s hesitation, Cordelia burst out of the room at the sound of Queenie’s voice. She expected a brawl, and she expected it to be swift and painful.</p><p>                  “Girls! Girls!” Cordelia said, separating a tangle of arms and legs. Each transgressor snarled and threw more insults.</p><p>                 She turned to Queenie first, crossing her arms. “Queenie. You’re part of the council now. You need to start treating your sisters with more respect.”</p><p>                 “Why in the hell would I steal your card?” The other voice, a bit sharper. “For God’s sakes, I make 7 million a picture. I have more than you’ll have in a lifetime.”</p><p>                   “You’re gonna have more than that money on you if you don’t shut up,” Queenie retorted, holding a knife up to the light and raising its wicked, gleaming blade near her throat. “You want another scar, Ms. TMZ?”</p><p>                 And, as Cordelia turned and got a good look at who Queenie was pissed at, her blood sizzled.</p><p>                 Madison Montgomery, back from the dead.</p><p>                 Again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Surprise, bitch, I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.</p><p> </p><p>Please talk to me in the comments; I answer everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          “What a surprise; it’s Ms. Cordy herself,” Madison said, a nasty grin creeping across her cheeks. “I’m disappointed you didn’t mourn my loss for longer. But with all your, um,” she said, flicking a finger, “Supreme duties, I’m not surprised.”</p><p>                   Cordelia was unnerved. “You look like hell. Where have you been?”</p><p>                   Madison’s eyes were cold and sunken, and her body was one step away from becoming the epitome of rigor mortis itself. When she moved, her joints creaked, and a new purple bruise covered her neck, a wicked inkblot of death.</p><p>                 She smelled like dirt and rot, and her hair was listless and in tangles. Cordelia wouldn’t be surprised if Madison had torn through a coffin and crawled directly out of the ground. She looked unfazed, though, as if wondering in passing why everyone was staring at her, and wiped her greasy mouth with the back of her hand.</p><p>                 “You. I need an explanation,” she said, and gestured limply to the hallway. In the dim glow of the lamplight, Kyle peeked out from behind the corner and inched forward.</p><p>                 “It was to protect. The coven.”</p><p>                 “From what, Kyle?” Cordelia asked, confused. “Who was threatening us?”</p><p>                 “Bullshit,” Madison said, ignoring the Supreme. “It’s because you wanted Zoe all to yourself, isn’t it?”</p><p>                 Suddenly, it clicked. Kyle had killed Madison. And, despite Cordelia’s concern, she prided Madison’s plucky attitude. She was one hell of a witch, getting herself out of that mess.</p><p>                 Madison eyed Kyle. “That manic pixie dream girl won’t stay forever. She’ll leave as soon as she came. And you’ll be stuck here, alone, serving this goddamn excuse of a coven till the day you die.”</p><p>                 Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest. “If you hate this coven so much, why did you come back?”</p><p>                 “To gloat, obviously. It’s not like you have anything worthwhile in this dump.” Her eyes were dark, and in the buzz of the pitiful lamplight they looked almost black; her gaunt cheeks stretched like canvas every time she spoke. “Well...I might need a place to sleep for the time being. You know, to get myself settled, get back into the acting gig, that sort of thing. And a shower, of course. You up for that, Cordy?”</p><p>                 Cordelia turned to observe her students, all lined up in the hallway. Queenie was furious. Kyle was inexpressibly sad. And Nan’s spirit whispered, advising her not to take Madison in. Cordelia could sense her there, her gentle features and all-knowing spirit, and she knew immediately what to say.</p><p>                 “No. Just...no. It’s too much.”</p><p>                 Madison looked incredulous, as if she had just been slapped in the face. She began to protest, but Cordelia was having none of it and turned the corner to the stairs, the hint of a triumphant smile playing at her lips.</p><p>                 Although the morning sun greeted her at the bottom, Cordelia was far from forgetting the endless concerns plaguing the coven, and soon her calm disposition faded. There were even more crucial responsibilities sure to come as the new school year rounded the corner. Absently, she played with Fiona’s old ring on her index finger, slipping it off and rolling it in her palm.</p><p>                 Misty Day, more than anyone else, helped her stamp the worries out before they became dangerous. But now the anxieties that were previously rows of folders in a drawer became unkempt piles, and the cabinets of her weary mind seemed bigger and messier. </p><p>                 Misty’s flowering potential helped Cordelia believe that she was striving for something worthwhile. That the drama with Fiona, and her fallout with Hank, and even her encounters with the volatile and explosive Marie Laveau were necessary for the future and well-being of the women under her care. Her heart ached, and the dream played again in her head as she heated a kettle for her tea. </p><p>                 She retrieved a spoon from the drawer, and although she had her sight again, she was still calmed by the jingle of silverware as she closed it. Then, she settled down, spoon clinking against china when she stirred, and soon she was transported into a dreamlike state.</p><p>                 Cordelia walked into Misty in the same spot and in the same kitchen on a bright spring day. The then-headmistress was on the way to her office to shred some papers, and Misty was in the midst of cooking a hodgepodge of who-knows-what when they clashed, both rounding the corner at once. Cordelia was covered head to toe in flour, the puff of it still lingering in the air, and Misty couldn’t contain her hysterics.</p><p>                 “What are you so tickled at?” Cordelia remembered asking. “I’m sure it’s not because of my dress of choice,” she said, and posed as if she planned the flour spill as some sort of fashion statement. Misty snickered even harder, snorting a few times, and they both erupted into girlish laughter.</p><p>                “You’re funnier than you give yourself credit for,” Misty said, and Cordelia was taken aback. No one had called her funny before; she might’ve been a fashion goddess and a type-A bitch like her mother, but she was no comedian.</p><p>                 They helped each other clean up, and after Cordelia came back from the office, she gawked at the stove and asked what Misty was baking.</p><p>                 “Fry pie,” Misty replied, and Cordelia cringed. It looked like an absolute mess, a mountain of dough sitting heavily and unbalanced on a small pan. She teased Misty about her cooking skills, and Misty teased back, and Cordelia realized that it was one of the best days of her life. She spent all weekend with Misty, just the two of them, and although it was a short time, she felt like she really got the gist of Misty’s character and soul.</p><p>                  Cordelia snapped out of it and sat up when Madison clambered down the stairs. “Hey, I have something I think that will change your mind,” she said, sluggish and drowsy.</p><p>                 “Whatever it is, I doubt I’ll want it,” Cordelia said. “You can say whatever you want, but you’re leaving by tomorrow morning.”</p><p>                 “Oh, Miss Supreme,” Madison said, and eyed Cordelia’s swirling tea. “I’m not gonna leave. Because I have something you want.”</p><p>                 “Mmm-hm. And may I ask what that is?”</p><p>                 Madison leaned against the table, her light frame barely even jostling the cup. She tilted her chin and stared Cordelia down with the most innocent expression that she could manage. “She’s alive. Misty Day. And I’ll tell you where she is if you let me stay.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Radio</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>           Cordelia decided she was uncomfortable in the night. Sure, she had been blind, she had been in the dark, but not like this.</p><p>                 The windows were cracked. It was something Cordelia liked to do often; the soft chirps of insects and frogs and the warm Louisiana air always seemed to calm her. But tonight, the air felt cold as it crept up on her neck, and the frogs’ songs were subdued. Blackness swam up beneath her feet——thick, soulless ink——urging her to plunge her face in. Twisted trees swam by in her peripherals, and as she checked her side mirror before changing lanes, she was reminded of men with broken spines, rustling leaves their cries of pain. </p><p>                 She clenched her neck and back in impulse, rolling up the windows and drawing forward into herself like Fiona always scolded her not to do. Cordelia reasoned her fear was because, in her eyes, low visibility was worse than total darkness: the chance of witnessing something visceral in the dim circle of her headlight’s glow scared the shit out of her. But the hours rolled forward, silent and suspiciously quiet, and so did her car.</p><p>                 She checked Misty’s place first, but she had felt cold and lonely. The walls plastered with Stevie memorabilia seemed bare somehow, and so did the rack by the door chock-full of shawls; and the worn table, underneath of which was permanently defiled with FM-themed engravings. The kitchen sink was completely clean of grime and dirty dishes because Zoe and Cordelia had come by earlier that year, but Cordelia felt a lingering pang of guilt for messing with the belongings of a person who was practically dead. </p><p>                 In fact, it was completely devoid of what the shack used be——cloves and weeds and wildflowers and a helping of Louisiana mud——and instead became the renovation project of a grieving woman: waxed linoleum floors, thick knitted quilts, a kitchen mini fridge, and lavender Febreze.</p><p>                 Cordelia felt the same sense of guilt whenever she stepped over the rug in the living room at the academy. It had become one of her rituals to completely avoid it. Once, she tripped and had almost fallen on it, but she caught herself on the floor, spraining her wrist. In retrospect, she felt selfish for accepting Zoe and Queenie’s assistance in mopping up her spilled tea.</p><p>                 The car rattled and Cordelia loosened her grip, realizing that she forgot to turn on her brights. She pressed the button set into her steering wheel, and a flinchingly yellow luminescence seared away the darkness, flowing out of the front of her hood and onto the glimmering pavement below. Misty’s golden mass of curls surfaced up into her thoughts like an unwanted dead fish, and she cursed it.</p><p>                 It had been two days since she began her search. Madison had been so vague; all she did was point Cordelia towards Misty’s garden, to a note. It had been halfway-buried in dirt near the front door.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Dear Delia,</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               I know what youre thinking, But it’s not some sorta hoax. Im okay. I’m outta there. I donno how it happend, I donno where I am, but I’m here.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               I told the girl who bought me out to please drop this off at home. She’s a powerful witch, Delia. She rubbed her temples and looked at it for a bit an then POOF, it was gone. at least I hope she’s a powerful witch... other wise this letter is gonna be useless.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               Ive tryed askin her why she won’t just bring me back to you. Ive tryed. It’s all so confusing. But I guess I can try telling you what my surroundings are so you have a chance at findin’ me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               First off, there’s a hole lot of water. and more than the usual swamp. Its a beach of some sorts, and a lot of trees. She has a little something she lives in and thats where we sleep. It’s in a mass of plants and I donno if anyone even knows she lives there.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               I think we’re close to Louisiana, if not in louisiana. Even out here the cicadas are still singing.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               She dont talk much but what she said is that I need to stay with her. That she needs me to be protected from the things of hell or some crazy shit. think she has some screws Loose. usally she just sits next to me and reads, And I just sit there and wish I had Stevie with me.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               Sometimes we go out to the beach. there’s a whole lot of dead trees up in here, in the sand — We sit under one sometimes. It’s real twisty and big. im thinkin this might be a tourist destinaton cause sometimes I see kids all set up with their towels.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               I’ve tried to leave, cordelia. shes too strong. She stops me. It’s like an invisible brick wall I run into every single time i try. I donno what else to do, but at least she makes decent grub.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>               I miss you like hell. youve always been a good to me. You got to let me know about the new Surpreme sipreme? Supreme when we see each other again. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>- love Misty</i>
</p><p> </p><p>            Although she was sleep-deprived and stuffed to the brim with the blues, Cordelia cracked a smile at the poor grammar and spelling. And, of course:</p><p>                 <i>Love, Misty.</i> Whatever it meant, she was glad...perhaps a bit too glad. The car promptly grumbled, as if saying, <i>“Cordelia, get your head out of you ass.”</i></p><p>                 The scribbles detailing Misty’s location confused Cordelia even more than the L-word. There were too many beaches in and around Louisiana to narrow down, and Misty hadn’t mentioned any apparent specifics, except the multitude of dead, washed-up trees. Her fingers jittered on her left hand, so she sat on them and decided to drive handicapped.</p><p>                 Cordelia reached a clearing, and the landscape transitioned into a backdrop of sparsely flecked plants and wide sands. If she squinted, she could make out a long stretch of sand in the distance. Her hand itched, as if warning her, and Cordelia promptly caught a spider in the act of building a web.</p><p>                 It was gray and fuzzy, similar to a koala or a moldy acorn, and its black beady eyes stared back up at her with what seemed like curiosity. Cordelia smiled despite herself, retracting one hand from the steering wheel and depositing the spider on the passenger seat. It twitched, and glanced around, but seemed content enough. Her fuel meter blinked, and noticing a neon sign in the far distance, headed for the nearest gas station.</p><p>.....</p><p> </p><p>                 When she pulled into the parking spot nestled the far left corner of the lot, Cordelia was still scouring the ocean line. After about ten minutes of quiet observation, she stepped out of the car uneasily, wondered if she’d have to book a hotel for the night, and pushed in on the door.</p><p>                 A tiny silver bell tinkled when she entered, and a middle-aged and grizzled man with what looked like a permanent 5 o’clock shadow was hunched over the register, organizing the change for probably the sixth time that night. The glazed film over his eyes dispersed when he heard Cordelia enter.</p><p>                 “Huh? What you in here for?”</p><p>                 “Gas,” Cordelia said. “Um, I wanted to get some snacks first.”</p><p>                 “Oh. That’s fine. Just be quick; my shift’s almost over and I really gotta piss.”</p><p>                 “Um...do you mind if I look around for a bit? I’m not sure what else might catch my eye.”</p><p>                 “Not a problem, lady.”</p><p>        Cordelia cringed at the way he said <i>lady</i>, and cringed even more when she noticed him scratching his balls. She quickly averted her gaze and turned into an isle, stuffing her arms with as much comfort food as she could hold.</p><p>                 “Ey, leave some for me?” the cashier sneered. “That’s a hell of a lot of Snickers.”</p><p>                 “I’m good, thank you,” Cordelia said, coldly. The cashier looked at her like she was crazy.</p><p>                 “Eh...anything else, lady?”</p><p>                 Cordelia scanned the counter, passing over the ordinary lighters and trinkets, when she spotted a small green radio near the register. It was slightly rusted, but it looked pretty well-taken care of, and handpainted flowers dotted the front in a display of rare artistic talent. A Studebaker, and an old one, from the looks of it.</p><p>                 “Is that for sale?”</p><p>                 “Her? I wouldn’ say regularly. But for a pretty one like you, no price is too low.”</p><p>                 Cordelia pulled out her wallet and sighed. “What’s the price?”</p><p>                 “Ten bucks. But you gotta promise you’ll come back every once and awhile.”</p><p>                 “I’ll come back only if you tell me where the nearest popular driftwood beach is.”</p><p>                 “It’s seriously called Driftwood Beach. Jekyll Island. Surely, you’ve heard of that one. Take I-90 straight there. It’s about three hours from here, little lady.”</p><p>                 “Deal,” Cordelia said, and slid him her debit card. When he completed the transaction, he touched her arm with his clammy hand.</p><p>                 Cordelia grabbed her bag of Snickers and pulled away with disgust. “Thanks for the radio, but you’re revolting.” And as the cashier stumbled over his words and the bell happily declared her exit, it was already decided she would not be coming back.</p>
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